The Night Migrations by Louise Gluck

This is the moment when you see again
the red berries of the mountain ash
and in the dark sky
the birds' night migrations

It grieves me to think
the dead wont see them
these things we depend on
they disappear

What will the souls do for solace then?
I tell myself maybe it won't need
these pleasures anymore;
maybe just not being is simply enough
hard as that is to imagine.